


Flourishing

by sentimental_animals



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, Immortality Blues, M/M, Smoking, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4743338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentimental_animals/pseuds/sentimental_animals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m a naturally anxious person. I have an oral fixation, you may have noticed. I lack decision making skills. I’m too weak-willed to kick a habit. I’m sullen and contrary and am driven to make bad choices just to spite expectation. I always wanted someone to care enough to ask me why I’d do something so stupid. The smell reminds me of my mother.” He turned toward Carlos with that fretful smile. “Pick one. They’re all true.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flourishing

**Author's Note:**

> So mr-reblogbutton [suggested something sad](http://mr-reblogbutton.tumblr.com/post/128083239757/sad-thing-im-too-lazy-to-draw-or-make-a-ficlet). And I can never resist a sad prompt. I'm sorry.

The first time Carlos asked was on the fourth date. 

He had noticed almost immediately; a scientist is always observant, and he recognized the thin layer of dust on the dashboard of Cecil’s car, the absent-minded fiddling with a lighter. And he vaguely remembered, that first day at the station, the ashtray next to the coffee mug, although he hadn’t thought much of it at the time. It seemed rude to ask, though. _Hey, before we start really getting to know each other, can we talk about your unhealthy life choices?_

There was also the possibility that this was one of those Night Vale things; what if all the research on the dangers of tobacco just hadn’t reached them? 

But he was definitely fond of Cecil. He realized it very suddenly one night as he climbed into bed, trying to decide how to respond to one of the sweet, but reserved, texts Cecil had been sending lately. The realization hit him abruptly, alarmingly, and he put his head under a pillow and pressed his cheek against the cool sheets. _I like you a lot_ , he thought. _I’d like you to be around for a while._

So finally, he asked. 

“Oh! That,” Cecil said, looking away. They were at an intersection, waiting for the light to change, and Cecil’s eyes flicked nervously between Carlos and the road. “That--I should have said something, right? Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I was just wondering--I mean, you have to know it’s actually very--”

“I know,” Cecil said quietly. “That’s kind of why I didn’t say anything.” He tapped his fingers absently against the wheel in time with the blinker. “You’re a scientist, and you know all about that, you know, medical stuff. And--I wanted you to like me.” He looked away primly and made the left turn.

Carlos didn’t realize until later that he hadn’t actually answered the question.

 

The second time he asked, he tried for a lighter mood.

“Aha!” he said, poking his head out the screen door. “Caught you!”

Cecil jumped and turned, eyes wide, face flushed. He waved his hand slightly to disperse the swirling smoke. “Sorry,” he said, although he did not specify what he was apologizing for. 

Carlos shrugged. He didn’t want to say _it’s okay_ because it kind of wasn’t, it was just worrisome enough to not feel okay, but anything implying forgiveness wouldn’t work, because there was nothing for him, personally, to forgive. He leaned against the porch railing and said, “how long have you smoked, anyway?”

Cecil shrugged vaguely.

“I mean, it can’t have been that long. Your voice is still great and you don’t cough like you’re dying every morning.”

Cecil looked away. “I dunno. A while I guess. Anyway.”

“I could help, you know, if you wanted to--”

“I think we should stay in tonight,” Cecil said loudly. He turned and looked past the little cloud of smoke with a tight smile. “Let’s just make dinner and snuggle.”

 

The third time he asked, there wasn’t any room for caution. Cecil was in a chair on the porch with a small glass and a bottle of brandy, making faces at the moon.

“Ceec,” he said gently, putting a hand on his knee. “I want to talk to you. It’s--”

“They bought it. Did you hear? They _bought_ the radio station, they own it. That’s not--it’s not a thing you can _own_ , Carlos.” His scowl was briefly illuminated by sparks as he flicked the lighter in frustration, then finally sighed out a cloud of smoke. 

“I heard,” Carlos said quietly. 

“It’s bullshit,” Cecil grumbled. “Anyway. What did you want to talk about?”

Carlos looked away, prepared himself. “Cecil. You’re a smart person. Why--why this?” He gestured towards the battered paperboard box. “It’s dangerous, it’s unhealthy, you don’t usually seem to enjoy it--so why do you smoke, anyway?”

Carlos was unsure what response he was expecting. Frustration, maybe, or anger, or another skillful deflection. He did not expect Cecil to laugh.

It was a dark little sound and his smile teetered on the edge of hysterical grimacing. “I’m a naturally anxious person,” he said evenly. “I have an oral fixation, you may have noticed. I lack decision making skills. I’m too weak-willed to kick a habit. I’m sullen and contrary and am driven to make bad choices just to spite expectation. I always wanted someone to care enough to ask me why I’d do something so stupid. The smell reminds me of my mother.” He turned toward Carlos with that fretful smile. “Pick one. They’re all true.” He laughed again. “Scientifically speaking, they’re all _factual_.”

“But not the actual reason,” Carlos said.

“No. Not the actual reason. My darling Carlos, you don’t want that. You think you do, and I understand that you care about me, like, as a person and such, and that you don’t know what you’re actually asking--what?”

Carlos shook his head and squeezed Cecil’s knee. “I’m not sure what I’m actually asking, and I know it’s going to be hard to talk about, but _I actually want to know_ because I love you and I want to understand you, and--and maybe because I can help you. If I understand.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Cecil refilled his little glass and offered it to Carlos. 

“Do you remember the first time we spoke?” he said. “When you came to the station and tried to evacuate everyone?”

“Of course I do.” Carlos handed the glass back, and Cecil did not return his small smile.

“Well. Radiation isn’t much an issue in Night Vale. We don’t sense things in the same way outsiders do. Time, or change, or--or earthquakes, or all sorts of things.” His gestures traced red lines in the evening air from the glowing ember. “I’m a particularly bad example of that. Older than I look, that’s what I’ve always said.”

“Okay,” Carlos said slowly. 

“You asked me how long it had been. Honestly...I have no idea. It’s just been a fact, for a very long time.”

“Um.” It didn’t really seem the time to question it. And it was clear Cecil had had a drink or two--he had that reckless look on his face--but he wasn’t even close to incoherent. 

“Since the moment you were born, you have been marching steadily towards the end of your life. You flourish and decay in equal measure until the end, and you can see the end coming, generally, barring some horrible accident. I flourish. Continually. It seems like, whatever I do, I cannot make this--” He slapped the flat of his empty hand against his leg. “--this _thing_ rot. When I say I’m old as the hills, I’m not being euphemistic.”

Carlos nodded. He was nothing if not observant, and had noticed a hesitancy to mention specific dates or ages, and, on one occasion, saw Cecil eat a photograph to avoid discussing it. So he’d made that connection.

 

“So, after a few decades, I started looking for ways out. Tried a couple of things. But they tend to be--distressing. For the people around you. It is so hard to make people understand just how _tired_ you are, how frightened, how _lonely_.” He cleared his throat loudly and looked away. “So, I figured, why not try for a slow decline?”

He paused, sipped his brandy, rubbed his eyes. 

“Ceec, you ever talk to anyone about this?” Carlos asked gently.

“And say what?” There was an edge of distress creeping into his even tone. “I have this--hereditary curse. Usually I can ignore it. Occasionally I try to fight it. But I’m stuck--I’m _stuck_. Nothing about this body has changed, in any substantial way, in ten years. Couple of scars, a grey hair or two, and that’s it. There’s just--just too much life in me, I guess. So I thought--put it to work, right?”

Carlos looked away and swallowed, trying to keep his face together. “Cancer,” he whispered, after a moment. 

“Got it in one!” Cecil’s eyes were far too bright, and while he was still, technically, smiling, he was shaking slightly. “Let it grow and fester and suck up all that extra--whatever it is I’ve got too much of, whatever makes me keep moving. But, unfortunately, my cells aren’t especially ambitious. They just. Won’t. Cooperate.” He flicked a bit of ash onto the little dish at his side and then raised his hand. “But hope springs eternal!”

“Cecil,” Carlos began, but what was there to say? He set his hand carefully on Cecil’s knee, stroking gently with his thumb. “I’m so--”

Cecil was shaking his head, fast, looking away. “If you--I’m not--” He made a soft, strained sound of aching panic. “Please don’t feel sorry for me, okay, it’s just how it is, eventually something will work, nothing lasts forever--please dear god in heaven _do not feel sorry for me--_ ”

He broke, then, just barely noticeable cracks in the veneer of _fine_ he lived in. He slumped forward and made a weak keening sound, clutching Carlos’ hand tight, like it was the only solid thing he could find. There was a sob, or possibly a sigh, and as he curled further inward a hot tear dropped onto the back of Carlos’ hand. 

 

Carlos did not ask again.


End file.
